Wolf in Sheep's Clothing
by A. E. Stover
Summary: "I work for Zarkon. Always have, and always will." Sometimes, the people with the brightest of eyes hold the darkest of souls.


They had him cornered. Last anybody saw, Haggar was strewn to pieces by the combined force of Pidge's modified cannon and Keith's sword, while Sendak was lying somewhere underneath the Galra ship that Lance and Shiro had taken down with their lions. Hunk was the first one on Zarkon's tail, and Keith was quick to follow suit.

They ejected themselves from their lions when Zarkon disappeared into the depths of his fallen battleship. Their clanging footsteps in the ship's hall echoed in clamorous cacophony. Zarkon would know they were coming.

But it didn't matter.

There was nowhere for him to go.

As they approached the doorway to a holding cell, turned upside down from the unceremonious landing of the ship, Keith threw his arm out in front of Hunk to stop him just in time as the entire doorway was crushed by one mighty swing of Zarkon's sword. Keith's bayard hummed as he raised it to meet Zarkon's blade head-on, narrowly avoiding the grand opportunity of experiencing what it would be like to be decapitated. The fury in Zarkon's jaundice gaze ignited Keith's temper; how dare this creature look at him with such a gaze — as if _he_ were the one to be despised, as if _he_ were the one who had wrought such destruction upon the universe, as if _he_ were an accursed plague upon the galaxy.

Zarkon's laugh was like a rumble of thunder. "Yes," came his delighted response, "Show me those eyes— Show me that anger! Revel in it like the true Galra you are!"

Keith narrowed his eyes and channeled his inner Lance. "Your ass must be jealous of the shit that comes out of your mouth all the time."

With a ferocious roar, Zarkon swung out with his weapon. Keith knew he couldn't anchor himself against the brute force of Zarkon's strength, so he kicked the ground with both feet to leap back. He caught Zarkon's murderous gaze for a second time as his body lifted in the air. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to duck and roll, so he dropped back to the ground with his sword tucked tight against his front and rolled to his back. Just in time, too— Zarkon's sword thrust out into empty air where Keith's body had been.

Keith let the momentum of his roll carry his body to the side. As soon as his left shoulder touched the cold metal of the ship's interior, he thrust his sword arm against the ground and pushed against the floor to lunge further to the right. He watched Zarkon's sword crack right through the metal floor where he'd been, missing him for the second time. Keith swung down on Zarkon's sword arm. Predictably, Zarkon let go of his weapon. _Un_ predictably, the brute instead moved to catch Keith's incoming blade with his bare hands.

The shock of witnessing the Galra Emperor intercepting his weapon as if it were nothing more than a fast-approaching insect plunged a cold knife in his heart. Keith froze—a bad, bad move— and in a moment, he was thrown to the ground on his back with the blade of his own sword at his throat just by the sheer act of Zarkon pushing down against the flat of his blade.

The fury in Zarkon's eyes was immeasurable. His voice was a low, threatening growl that shook fear into his soul. "I will spill every ounce of Galra blood that is wasted in your veins."

His inner Lance was very much like the real Lance, in that it didn't seem to know when to keep shut. "That's only, like, half my blood."

Rage twisted on Zarkon's face. Keith saw it only for a second before the creature was hurled off by a powerful blast from a plasma cannon.

Heart thrashing wildly in his chest, Keith grabbed his weapon and scrambled back to his feet. He glued his gaze to the smoking form of the Galra Emperor who'd been rammed straight through the battered metal doorframe of the holding cell.

"Sorry," said Hunk, as he came forward, "There were some stragglers I had to deal with. Zarkon's sure got a steady following. They're like moths to a flame, man." He gave Keith a once over. "You okay?"

"I'm great." Keith kept his eyes on Zarkon's unmoving form. "Could be better if he stayed like that." He flicked a very brief glance at Hunk's weapon. "What'd you shoot him with, anyway? He's still out. It's never done that before."

With a grunt, Hunk hefted the large plasma cannon up against his shoulder and grinned. "Made a few mods after a session with Coran. See, it's all about your will to fight. You gotta picture yourself—"

Hunk never finished his thought because just then, Zarkon rushed forward and crashed into Hunk with all the force of a wrecking ball striking against concrete walls. Hunk was thrown back with a sharp cry, his plasma cannon blasting a hole through the ceiling of the ship as it was knocked out of his hands and hit the ground.

Hunk didn't let that stop him; with a wild battlecry, Hunk latched onto Zarkon's shoulders with both hands and pulled him down. Hunk smashed their heads together, then jabbed an elbow into Zarkon's side, making the great Emperor bellow out in pain. Hunk was kicked across the room quickly after, but before Zarkon could rise to his feet, Keith was there in the next instant. With a wordless scream, Keith thrust his sword up into Zarkon's chest, feeling his blade plunge through the armor of the Galra Emperor and drive itself through flesh.

But Zarkon didn't become the ruler of an empire for millennia with just brains and menacing looks.

Even as blood gurgled from his mouth, Zarkon reacted immediately. A powerful swing of his large fist knocked against the side of Keith's head. Helmet or no helmet, the strike was enough to make his vision blur and his ears ring. One second he was standing on his own two feet, delivering a vicious look against the Galra Emperor as he finally got in a major hit. In the next, he was on the floor halfway across the room.

But he had, somehow, managed to take his sword with him.

Zarkon was on the floor, hand pressing against his chest. Blood poured from his wound and made a putrid puddle on the floor, the liquid hissing as it hit the cold metal.

"You miserable human wretch," Zarkon sneered, not sounding at all pained as he should have been. "I will tear you limb from limb," he snarled, fixing a savage look right on Keith, "feed you to the hounds of Enferra, and grind your bones to dust." Slowly, he began to rise. Keith gripped his sword tight.

"The paladins will be but a myth. Not a single piece of you will be left!" Zarkon roared.

Keith's eyes widened when Zarkon suddenly barrelled forward, as if he hadn't just received a mortal wound. The split second of shock was enough to make Keith realize he wasn't prepared to block the attack.

But Lance was.

He came out of nowhere, guns ablazing. Literally. The four shots that rained down from the hole Hunk's weapon had blasted in the ceiling was enough to make Zarkon reconsider his plans of attack. Instead of going after Keith, Zarkon went right for the Blue Paladin.

Lance seemed to have suspected as much, and fought back with vigor. He maintained steady gunfire, forcing Zarkon to be on the evasive. He had the advantage of being above, and Keith took the chance of catching Zarkon off guard when the Galra Emperor turned his back on him as he moved away from Lance's cannon fire. Keith tightened his grip on his weapon and launched forward.

At the last second, Zarkon whirled around and grabbed the blade of his sword with a single hand, letting the blade cut into his flesh. It happened so quickly, Keith only had time to bring his left arm to his head as Zarkon swung a heavy booted foot against his side. Zarkon's foot had connected with Keith's right shoulder, and had sent him sailing back halfway across the room. He crashed against the still-hot barrel of Hunk's weapon, and it misfired.

A shot of energy tore from the weapon, shooting straight and missing Zarkon's legs by half an inch. It continued across the room to fling into part of the interior wall, where, instead of blasting right through the metal, it was absorbed in a dull warping hum of purple energy; a part of the ship's defense barrier that was still activated.

The ceiling hummed loudly. Rings of purple energy pulsed in waves, the center of it all being the side of the ship where Hunk's cannon had fired into. It was startling enough to jam a second of hesitance into the barrage of gunfire.

That second was a deadly mistake.

In one motion, Zarkon flew off the ground with a guttural cry, shot his hand out through the hole in the ceiling, and grabbed Lance's left ankle.

Lance was dragged off the top of the ship and hurled into the ground with a resounding crash.

When Zarkon landed, it was to a similar effect; he fell on his side with a battering thud, his shoulder crushing into the metal floor of his ship. His breathing, labored as it was before his stunt, was even more so, and his haggard, wheezy heaves could be heard even from where Keith was.

Lance recovered quickly, pushing himself up and taking his weapon in hand at once. He was a mere three meters away from the Galra Emperor's hulking mass, and his plasma gun was aimed right at Zarkon's head.

"End of the line, Zar _gone,"_ said Lance.

Lance's words made Keith's head swim with elation. _This was it,_ Keith thought, light-headed. _End of the line, he'd said. They were gonna win. They were gonna win._

Lance's finger stayed tight on the trigger. "Any last words?"

Even while staring down the barrel of a plasma gun, the Emperor managed to keep his threatening gaze. The fearsome bloodthirst remained in Zarkon's eyes, and there seemed to be a tinge of mirth swimming from the depths of his yellow gaze. His last words were an enigma; a remark of pointless observation that went completely over Keith's head:

"You are far from home, aren't you?"

Lance stiffened. His hold on his weapon stayed, but there was no shot, no fire, no attack.

 _Shoot him!_ Keith screamed in his mind. _Do it! Now!_

The stiffness in Lance's back and shoulders melted away. "Home is here," Lance answered, matter-of-factly.

Then, Lance turned and fired at Keith.

Keith barely registered what was going on when he was scrambling to his feet to jump out of the way. He continued moving even as his brain was still processing the fact that _Lance was shooting at him._ Finally, he stopped running to turn and flick his shield on. It materialized with a hum, and he ducked behind it. Shot after shot of plasma energy rammed against his shield, making it whirr and hum and groan with every hit it took. He screamed at Lance: "What the hell're you doing?!"

The shooting stopped. Keith maintained his position, keeping his shield up. He watched Lance closely through the transparent red of his particle shield. He didn't like the look in Lance's eyes; the other paladin's blue eyes were stained dark from the hue of his red shield, and carried a feral gleam he'd never seen on Lance before.

Lance waved his weapon as he replied off-handedly. "Oh, you know… Bad guys versus the good guys— Except, I guess. I'm with the bad guys." He grinned, then, a look of wicked pleasure unfolding on his face and making Keith's skin crawl because _that wasn't Lance,_ it couldn't be.

"What're you talking about?!" Keith demanded, hearing the slight crack in his voice as he struggled to both keep his eyes on Lance and take surveillance of his current situation. A quick look around revealed nothing— No exit, no back-up, no nothing. Hunk was out cold. Zarkon was wounded, but alive. And Lance— Lance was—

"Are you crazy?!"

Lance frowned. "I said I was Team Zarkon, not crazy."

"Team Zar—" Keith choked on his words. They died in his throat, and all that came out was a harsh, shaky gasp as he struggled to hold onto the last shred of understanding what the fuck was going on. It was only desperation that made him try again, his words coming back under control even as his hand slowly adjusted his grip on his sword. "Lance, quit playing around! This isn't funny!"

"Sorry." Lance aimed his weapon at him again. "Let me fix that."

Keith's shield took two more hits before it flashed in warning. Keith let the shield drop and dashed left. He needed sixty seconds for his shield to recover before he could fight Lance head-on, which meant he had sixty seconds of either running around in circles and letting Lance drive him into a corner or sixty seconds of blasting some goddamn sense back into him.

Hunk was still out cold, but his weapon was somehow still in its form. When he was just a few more steps away, Keith made the decision to throw himself forward. As he did, he felt a shot of plasma just barely miss the sole of his armored boots. His heart thrashed in his chest as he landed on the floor, tugging Hunk's plasma cannon towards him. That was close. It was enough to remind him that, while Lance was _Lance,_ he was not someone to be taken lightly.

Lance rarely ever missed a target. The fact that Keith had lasted this long didn't speak to his agility or to his reflexes. Lance was playing around; like a cat would chase a mouse into a corner, Lance could stick anyone in between a rock and a hard place like it was nothing. And Keith wasn't about to let somebody stick him in anything just yet.

Keith dropped his sword in favor of Hunk's weapon, lugging the heavy cannon into his hands. He fell backwards, but rolled quickly to the right to avoid yet another shot of energy from Lance's weapon. Sitting on the floor, Keith dragged the plasma cannon against his hip and aimed it at Lance.

The amused grin on Lance's face was eerily off, like it was some cheap imitation passing itself off as more than just a shadow of its former self. "Hey, look at that! I didn't know we could use each other's bayards. Must be because you two've been _bonding_ so much these days. Ain't that cute?"

Something spiked in his blood, something hot and vexing and angry. This— This wasn't Lance; couldn't be Lance, not with the way he was now. And that made him angry; angry at himself, for not fighting back when he had a chance, for letting this get to him, for letting him waste his own goddamn time.

Right now, he still had a chance. He had a chance right now, to fight back. Lance was just standing in front of him, grinning like a fool — like the fool he always was; like the fool they all were.

 _Go on,_ a voice in his head hissed. _Shoot him._

Keith pressed his finger against the trigger.

 _You can do it. Come on. Pull the trigger._

Lance gave him a wide-eyed stare of surprise.

Keith felt his finger slip off.

A crushing wave of disappointment and self-disgust rushed at him and filled his senses as he realized, he couldn't pull the trigger— he _couldn't._ He couldn't shoot Lance.

It was quickly replaced by regret when a sickening presence emerged from the floor in a vaporous haze of purple and surrounded him completely. He couldn't breathe; the thick smog filled up his lungs and pushed the air out of his chest, leaving only a fiery trail in its wake that burned his insides and made him cough his throat raw.

"You may have Galra blood," came the hissing voice of the Galra druid Keith had sworn they'd finally gotten rid of. Her temporal form solidified at last once she finally emerged from the ground. Keith felt her fingers close around his throat. Her mottled face, strips of skin sagging from her cheekbones from the blast she'd received from Pidge's weapon, was a horror unto its own. Her murderous gaze was another sight entirely. "But your bleeding heart is unfit to contain it."

Lance laughed again, the sound of it sending Keith's mind into a frenzy because _this wasn't Lance!_

"Haha! Bleeding heart! I get it." Lance's eyes flashed black. Pinpricks of yellow dotted in the center of both eyes; they gleamed as a look of glee spread over his face. "'Cause you can't pull the trigger on me, and I'm about to shoot you in the chest. Get it?"

"Lance," Keith choked out, feeling the witch clench her fingers around his throat. His own grip, too, still on Hunk's weapon, clenched tight, his finger pressed firmly against the trigger. "Fight this— You're better than this, you're— You're a paladin. You're one of us!"

Something in Lance's eyes turned sharp. "You don't get it," he said, matter-of-factly. His plasma gun pointed steady before the armor over Keith's chest. "I work for Zarkon. Always have, and always will."

Keith couldn't breathe. Haggar's bony grip was crushing his throat. His vision started to blur. With the last of his breath, he managed to wheeze out: "Lance — _Please—"_

Lance grinned. "If you say so."

He pulled the trigger.


End file.
